Objectification

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You tell me I’m plastic
Disposable
Easily recyclable
Melted down into a different shape with a different purpose
For whatever you see fit

I’m plastic because it’s easy for you to toss me aside
Without leaving a scratch
A mark
A single piece that’s broken
I still fulfill your purpose of holding that drink
Soft or Hard

And you, you say I’m glass
Fragile
Way too easily broken
I should be kept in the cupboard
Washed by hand
Given only to the grip that remains steady On the right occasion
In the right moment

You toss me down and everyone will know how I break
I’m here solely to deliver your liquid satisfaction

How is it that in your mind I instantly become a thing?
Why is it that you see yourself sitting at the table and position me someplace on the table, only to be moved by your hands?
When did I become your possession?
When did you decide that your best was simply staying faithful to your dishes and being sure the damage you make is always hidden from view?

If you ask me (and you didn’t) I believe I get to determine my position in this analogy
I’m no glass you drink from, plate you scrape off, or piece of silverware you utilize for grasping food

I’m a person
With eyes and ears, thoughts and feelings, a precious soul
In my head I have a place right across the table from you
And both of us
We’re built of blood, and bones, and skin
We have saltwater hearts and golden brains

So when you see me
See She

If you can’t see more than dining ware
You’re missing everything

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